


Paroxysm

by flustraaa, Write_reader23



Series: never judge a book by its cover [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: @Flustraaa's disgusting misuse of hyphens and @Write_reader23's failed attempt at fixing it, Alec Lightwood Has Feelings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood Friendship, College AU, College Student Alec Lightwood, Domestic Fluff, Fadoodly Alec Lightwood, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Good Parent Maryse Lightwood, Good Sibling Alec Lightwood, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injured Alec Lightwood, Law Student Alec Lightwood, Lawyer Alec Lightwood, Lydia and Alec BROTP, M/M, Misunderstandings, Musician Magnus Bane, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sad Alec Lightwood, Sad Magnus Bane, Sleepy Alec Lightwood, So much angst, Socially Constipated Alec, Various whumped characters, Well that's new, clalec brotp (bc were suckers for a good brotp), emotionally constipated Alec, english student alec lightwood, sleep deprived malec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_reader23/pseuds/Write_reader23
Summary: Paroxysm (n):a sudden attack or violent expression of a particular emotion or activity.ok so this was originally a fic but we got too enveloped in other works to continue however flustraaa has some drafters scenes from future chapters that we’ll post as a part of this series for yall to view.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We say a lot of weird stuff while trying to write these chapters. Examples include:
> 
> "i dOn't kNow HOw To WRiTe In bRITIsh" -Write_reader23
> 
> "God did me dirty when he turned me into the love child of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Emily Bronte, Emily Dickinson and fricken' Shakespeare" -flustraaa
> 
> ...More to come

“Mate,” Ragnor grunts, cutting open a bag of ice and dumping it into the small cooler, “you’re supposed to be helping. Not sittin’ there like a bloody old potato.”

Magnus looks up from his guitar, his fingers resting on a cord. “I asked Kyle to let me off early in order to be here. I’m being _supportive_.”

Raphael scuffs, lugging in several packs of beer. “You’re an assistant for a recording studio, it’s not hard work. Don’t act like you made some grand gesture by being here.”

Magnus ignores the little pinch in his chest—it _is_ hard work, especially when the voice in the back of his head told him he’s wasting his time with the whole music thing. Magnus gives his friend a look. Raphael’s chestnut eyes roll heavily as he adjusted his muscular frame so that he leaned against the counter. A raven brow raises before a soundless sigh leaves his perpetually pale lips.

“Someone is just bitter because they fell in love with their roommate—within three weeks of knowing them which is really impressive—only to find out that this unnamed roommate is engaged to one of the most popular girls on campus.”

Raphael snarls while Ragnor laughs. “Children, children,” Ragnor mocks. “No fighting. My bro-mates don’t want to hear it—“

Magnus cringes, striking an ugly cord. “ _Bro-mates_. I never want to hear you say that again.”

Raphael nods in agreement. “Ragnor, you are literally a college senior, you should know real words by now.”

Ragnor rolls his eyes, pouring a bag of chips into a bowl. “I’m sorry, I took a broath,” he says solemnly, earning groans. “Besides, you’re just jealous that I’m the leader of a Uni frat and you’re stilling living in a dorm as a junior,” Ragnor blows out a huff, clapping the remains ice and water from his hands.

“I’m on a scholarship that pays for the board. I’m not wasting money just to be surrounded by egotistical brain-dead alcoholics,” Raphael retorts dryly.

Ragnor snorts and Magnus strums a melody for some horror film he saw some time ago. “As I was saying, I just think you’re acting bloody ridiculous because you fancy some bloke and—”

“Ragnor! _Dios!_ Would you just—”

“Not a chance, you daft cow,” And on that note, Ragnor flips another type of animal at his friend.

Magnus bites down a grin, returning his guitar pick to the strings, “ _And with this feeling, I’ll forget I’m in love now,_ ” Magnus sings, his voice dancing through the air. While Magnus isn’t paying attention, Ragnor slips his phone from his pocket, taking a video.

Raphael turns his pissed-off look to his friend. “Do you enjoy making me hate you?”

Ragnor shrugs. “Your patheticness is entertaining at least. And besides, my subscribers _love_ these shambles.”

Magnus stops singing, glancing up from his fingerings. “What?”

“Shambles?” Ragnor says slowly, words coming out in a condescending tone.

“ _YouTube_ , old man,” Raphael drawls, ignoring Ragnor. “He posts videos online and people watch them. What century were you born in?”

“I’m barely a year older than you,” Magnus points out. He twists towards Ragnor, the bag of chips abandoned on the counter. “Please tell me you haven’t posted anything of mine.” Ragnor’s guilty look is enough to cause Magnus to groan as if punched. “Seriously!? You should’ve asked me first!”

Ragnor shrugs. “You’re not getting attention at the recording studio because your boss is biphobic and you’re not getting attention anywhere else because you refuse to accept any of the gigs I’ve found for you. I promise, my subscribers love hearing you sing, and one day, you’re going to go viral.”

A weight settles in his stomach. “Those gigs were for cliche dive-bars and I refuse to lower my standards. Viral?”

Raphael mutters under his breath in Spanish, throwing his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’ll be famous.”

Magnus flits an irritated hand, tapping a rhythm onto the wood of his guitar with the other. “Kyle isn’t biphobic. He just thinks my songs are trash and ‘a waste of his resources,’” Magnus defends bitterly. The self-deprecating voice is back, eating at him. He clears his throat, placing his guitar back in its case. He stands, helping Ragnor with the snacks.

Ragnor slaps him on the back. “Don’t listen to that asshat,” he says. “Your songs are amazing and one day, I’ll even ask for your autograph.” Magnus chuckles, shaking his head as he gives his best friend and half-hug in thanks.

***

“Magnus!”

It’s a miracle that Magnus can hear the Brit’s voice over the pulsing music, the alcohol he’d already consumed dampening the sound further. Golden-green eyes slowly turn to meet a head of (horribly dyed) silver hair and drunkenness staring back at him.

“Do you want another drink, mate?”

Magnus nods a quick affirmation to Ragnor’s question before returning his attention to the petite fairy-like girl pressing lipstick stains against his chest and neck as they bob to the music. They move along like that for ages—at least what feels like it before Magnus glances around the room to see Ragnor standing not far from the kitchen door.  He appears to be talking to some sophomore girls. Probably the quote-unquote _subscribers_ from their earlier conversation.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Magnus murmurs, ruefully pulling away from the russet-haired girl who clings to him like a leech. “I’m parched. Be back in a flash.”

A pout overtakes the girl’s features before she nods, slinking away—most likely to find another place for her lips on a neck.

With a few off-kilter steps—Magnus Bane does _not_ stumble—he reaches the cooler of beer, quickly pulling one out and turning around just in time to see a deliciously tall head of swoon-worthy raven hair burst in through the kitchen door.

 _A late arrival,_ he thinks. _Not bad at all._

The man immediately begins to shuffle around with the bags strewn across the counter tops before halting on a—dear God, is that the _new_ Chanel bag?! A man with class if he does say so himself.

“Well, aren’t you a nice glass of water in this dry desert?” Magnus coos at the man, his drunken mind telling him that his pick-up line held just the right amount of class.

The man doesn’t falter with his actions in the slightest, brushing straight past Magnus with a face of sheer determination and an underlying current of stoicism. Despite Logical Magnus’s best efforts, Drunk Magnus follows the broad, ripped—his brain supplies unhelpfully—man into the next room.

He realizes slowly that the man is wearing the worst possible party attire—an old swim team shirt and sweats that are stretched out around the waist. Magnus fights back a gag, rolling his eyes as Tall, Dark and Douchey rests a gentle hand on Isabelle Lightwood’s upper arm. There’s a sloppy movement of her hands and the man squints, leaning closer to her lips.

“Okay, so you can be flirty with an engaged girl but you can’t be flirty with a boy with eyeliner that could _KILL YOU_ ,” but it’s only after the words leave his mouth he understands what’s unfolding before him.

 _Tall, Dark, and Douchey must’ve been poor Raph’s roommate_ — _the one engaged to the esteemed Isabelle Lightwood,_ he thinks bitterly. Magnus may be a bit of a flirt but he abides by the ‘don’t mess with a brother’s crush’ code. As much as he would like to…

Isabelle stumbles and a look of panic flashes across the asshat’s face before he scoops her up. He faces away from Magnus, broad back facing him once more as the man sets her on the top of the sidebar, resting her head against his chest as he throws the Chanel bag over his shoulder.

“At least he’s not afraid to rock a Chanel bag,” Magnus thinks absently, taking a sip of the beer in his fingers.

Magnus watches Douche Boy’s fingers slip her out of her heels with a level of skill that both impresses and horrifies Magnus before he sets them beside her. Finally, he tugs the black hair tie from his wrist, tying her hair into a—honestly, rather formidable—messy bun.  

Magnus rolls his eyes so exuberantly that for a fleeting moment, the world tilts on its axis and he fears that he’ll fall on his face.

By the time he can see straight ahead again, the hot broody douche is already heading back out the kitchen door, leaving the party; and moreover, leaving Magnus with very dirty thoughts.

*******

Magnus groans, his face pressed against the arm of the plush couch. He groans again as he rolls over, falling onto the hardwood floor with a _thunk_. He sighs dramatically, slowly hefting himself into a sitting position.

Heavy footsteps pad into the room. Magnus squints, tilting his head up to see Ragnor slouching in. “Alright, mate?”

Magnus winces. “Don’t say that so loud,” he whispers bitterly.

Ragnor barks out a laugh. “When did you turn into a lightweight?” he mocks, walking around the couch to hand Magnus a bottle of water and a white capsule. Magnus downs it quickly, his eyes adjusting to the light of the morning.

“What day is it?” Magnus asks slowly.

Ragnor rolls his eyes. “The day after yesterday; Saturday. And before you freak, I already called you in sick.”

Magnus drags a hand through his hair. “This was a bad idea,” he croaks, taking a sip of his water. “I needed to work that double today.” Ragnor shoves his hand into his tight pocket, pulling out a roll of cash. He drops it in Magnus’s lap and he jumps. “I can’t take your money,” Magnus protests, guilt filling his hollow stomach.

“Well, I won’t take it back.” Magnus makes a face and Ragnor sighs. “It’s not charity. Think of it as hard-earned cash. After all, you helped with set up.” Magnus hides his grateful look, shame burning in his cheeks. He feels so useless, so helpless. His mother is counting on him and he’s failing… just as his father said he would.

Ragnor extends a hand and Magnus grabs it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. His downcast eyes land on a pair of black stilettos and Tall, Dark and Douchey flashes in his mind. Magnus hates to admit it, but he’s curious about what happened last night. He’s curious about the devilishly handsome fiance that Raphael seems to be in love with. And Magnus is even more curious to find out why he’s never met the man before.

“Where does Isabelle Lightwood live?” Magnus asks slowly, his eyes transfixed on the discarded heels.

Ragnor follows Magnus’s gaze. “Idris Hall. Plan on making a delivery?”

Magnus’s lips pull into a mischievous smile… before wincing as hammers slam against his skull. “Indeed I do.”

***

Magnus curses his own stupidity; dorm buildings require ID cards to enter. He slides his phone from his pocket, pressing it against his ear.

“What’d wan’?” Raphael slurs, sleep thick in his voice, his accent emphasized.

“You live in Idris Hall, right?” Raphael mumbles in affirmation. “Then come let me in.” A string of Spanish curse words follow but Raphael concedes… only after Magnus promised him a favor.

His friend—wearing baggy PJ pants and a ratty tee-shirt—yanks the door open about fifteen minutes later. “I hate you,” he mutters.

Magnus rubs a gentle circle into his back. “I know you do. Thanks for this.”

Raphael eyes the dangling shoes. “Little ambitious of you, don’t you think?”

Magnus scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. I could _rock_ these if I wanted. But no, they’re Isabelle’s.”

Raphael grumbles under his breath. “She’s two floors above me, room 632.”

***

Magnus stares at the little notes written on the whiteboard outside Isabelle Lightwood’s dorm room. Lots of “X’s” and “O’s” from some guy named Samoa? He can’t read the hurried scrawl and feels bad for the poor guy.

He lightly taps on the door and it swings open only moments later. A tired Isabelle—purple smudged under her eyes and her face makeup free—greets him with a weak smile. “You’re one of Ragnor’s friends, aren’t you?” she asks quietly, glancing over her shoulder.

Magnus attempts to peer around her, searching for her illusive fiance. He fails to see anything and redirects his attention. “Yeah, I graduated last year.”

She nods absentmindedly. “Will you—Ah—will you thank him for me? Alec told me he was the one to text him after I… well. Tell him thanks for me.”

Magnus’s brow pinches in confusion. “I’ll let him know…” he clears his throat. “You seemed to have lost these last night,” he says, lifting the shoes. Her dark eyes widened with a flash of joy. She snatches the shoes with a soft smile. There’s no Tall Douche in sight and Magnus’s heart deflates

“Thanks,” she says, glancing over her shoulder once more. “I—”

“You thought I was sleeping, didn’t you?” The door creaks open, revealing a little thing with unruly red hair and lots of freckles. Green eyes peer up at Isabelle. Her attention swiftly shifts to Magnus. She extends a hand. “I’m Clary Fray. It’s nice to meet you. Ragnor basically saved Izzy’s life so I guess that makes you a hero by association.”

“Whatever you say, biscuit,” Magnus replies wryly.

The door opens even more, the room finally coming into view. There’s an empty space of plan carpeted floor, a little kitchenette off to the left. Lofted beds sat farther into the room, desks squarely beneath them. The grey walls were drab, except for the few hanging pictures and posters. There are several black-and-white sketches tapped haphazardly to the frame of the bed on the left.

But those drawings aren’t what holds Magnus attention. No, his eyes drop to the base of the right wall, where a man with tousled black hair snores softly. Tall, Dark, and Douchey doesn’t look like any of those things in his sleep—especially when a bright pink blanket with bunnies stitched onto it was draped over his curled up form. He’s sleeping on a inflatable mattress that must have belonged to the redhead (or some child), who barely reaches Magnus shoulders.

Something in Magnus’s chest soars at the sight of him—he’s devilishly handsome, who can blame Magnus for being curious? Izzy follows his gaze and gives a small smile.

Clary stifles a laugh. “He always sleeps there when he stays over,” she explains, seemingly unworried about waking him with her talking.  
Magnus must’ve been staring for a moment too long as Isabelle sends him a confused look. She begins to open her mouth and hesitates. “Do you…uh, do you know him?”

Magnus frowns, his lips pressed together as he studies the toned muscles of the man’s back, the black tee-shirt pulled tight. The hammers of his hangover continue to pound and uneasy rhythm in his head. “I’m having deja vu, darling. I think I saw him at the party but I was drunk. Is he Samoa?” he asks, raising a dark brow.

The real-life strawberry shortcake begins to laugh in a way far more boisterous than expected for someone of her stature. “Do you mean Simon?”  
Isabelle snorts, almost flinging the door wide. She gestures for Magnus to enter, the heels clasped in one of her hands. “That’s Alec, not my fiance,” she says. Sweatpants that definitely aren’t hers hang low on her hips. Magnus averts his eyes as she bends, returning the heels to their respective place in the base of her large wooden wardrobe.

Magnus stares at the man once more, his lips parting slightly. “Is he…” he trails off, flitting a ringed hand through the air. He’s painfully aware that he was still wearing his clothes from last night… he probably smells like bar.

“My brother? Yes, very much so,” Isabelle says, nodding her head enthusiastically.

“And your fiance is…” Magnus’s brain was moving much slower than he would’ve liked.

Clary smiles, climbing the ladder to reach her bed. She sits on the edge, her pale legs dangling over. “Simon is my best friend. He lives two floors down. Nerdy, curly hair, glasses? I’m sure you’ve seen him around.”

Magnus tilts his head up to see her. “I haven’t had the pleasure. I graduated last year; Music Theory/Production major.” He turns his gaze to Isabelle. “Does Simon room with Raphael Santiago?”

Isabelle bites at her lower lip. “Yeah? How’d you know if you’ve never met him?”

“Interesting,” Magnus mumbles. He knows Raphael likes an engaged guy. But an engaged _nerd_ ? That’s something else entirely. Magnus can’t wait to tell Ragnor. It’s no wonder why Raphael never bothered to tell them _that_ little fact about his roommate. He clears his throat, shaking his head slightly. “May I ask what happened last night?”

Clary crosses her arms over her chest. “I know your friend basically saved Izzy’s life, but that doesn’t mean you get to hear the details.”

His brain pauses before rebooting. “Ragnor? How’d he save her life?” How did he miss something so intriguing? He couldn’t have been _that_ wasted.

Izzy clears her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “An ex of mine slipped something into my drink. Ragnor sent Alec a text to come pick me up.”

The tension in Magnus’s shoulders slips away. “I’m glad he came to get you,” Magnus says distantly.

Izzy continues to look uncomfortable and an awkward silence settles, interrupted only by gentle snuffles.

“I-I think I should get going,” Magnus says. “It was lovely meeting you both.”

Isabelle’s smile returns. “Thanks for the shoes.”

“If they could even be called that,” Clary murmurs—more to herself than anyone else, eyeing the seven-inch stilettos nervously.

Magnus’s eyes snag on the sleeping boy as he walks out of the room and into the hall. It hits him so suddenly that the air is knocked out of his lungs.

 _Alec_. Tall, Dark, and Douchey is _Alec_.

Something about that causes a slow smile to stretch across his face as he reaches the elevator.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter quotes include:  
> "i refuse to have magnus hear the station name... i'll specify by a graphic piece of art on the wall instead." -flustraaa  
> "he'd be that asshole who puts his feet up on the desk. wouldn't he?" -write_reader23 (ps note that even though this is posed as a question it was a statement when she said it).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u know how sometimes u say something and ur like whoops that was aggressive? that's the mood of this entire chapter.

“Sick, huh?” Jordan asks slowly, glancing up from the papers on his desk. “Are you feeling any better?”

Magnus nods, before croaking out.  “Much, sir.”

And it’s not because he wants to look sick, it’s because every second of every day he’s terrified he’ll lose what little wage he makes at this godforsaken job. One misstep, because God--and his boss--knows he is _incredibly_ expendable.

“Good,” Jordan murmurs, though it’s disinterested at best. “Be a dear and go fetch me a coffee?”

“Yes, Mr. Kyle,” Magnus sends his boss a smile that more heavily resembles a grimace than anything else before walking to the breakroom.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, poking around the coffee machine expertly before setting the cup under it, watching as Jordan’s disgustingly bitter coffee brews.

“Hi!” Magnus jumps at the sudden voice, whipping around to see a young man beside him. He looked around his age, maybe a bit younger. His chestnut colored hair is utter disarray, strands flying uncontrollably accompanied by undercurrents of semi-normalcy that could only be the product of a brush.

Magnus wants some of what he’s on- scratch that, he seems to be on anxiety and mass amounts of caffeine. The nerdy man-child rocks from his heels to his toes, grinning uncomfortably wide as he waits for a response from Magnus.

“Um, hello?” Magnus says, unsure of the entire situation that unravels in front of him.

The man thrusts out a pale hand, “I’m Lewis--uh--Simon Lewis... heh, two first names.”

“Samoa?” Magnus murmurs to himself, breaking out of his thoughts when he sees the confused expression on the boy’s face. “Magnus Bane.”

“Oh, you’re the one that gave Izzy her shoes—I guess the Samoa thing makes sense now...” he trails off awkwardly, a nervous hand scratching the nape of his neck as the tips of his ears turn pink.

The coffee pot dings and Magnus nods prior to slowly turning around, “Well, Salmonella, that’s my cue.”

He snaps a lid onto the coffee cop, turning on his heels. Before the door closes, however, he hears Simone murmur bashfully, “It’s Simon.”  

***

“ _Bane_!” Jordan calls gruffly from his office.

_I’m going to off myself. I really truly am going to,_ Magnus thinks bitterly. He lets out a deep sigh, pushing himself up from his desk in advance to taking confident strides to Jordan’s office.

“Yes, sir?” Magnus asks, voice completely devoid of any emotion.

“Did you finish the spreadsheets file folder 12-C?” he asks without sparing a glance up at his personal slave--oops--assistant.

“Of course, sir,” Magnus presses the dense beige folder onto the desk, not daring to come in contact with Jordan’s hands. After all, horrible style and god-awful personalities are contagious.

“Good. And the presentation for Sector Nine and Jonathan Morgenstern?”

“Completed,” he says, whilst opening his folder of notes, pulling out a typed up paper of notes on the presentation. “I’ve incorporated these notes so you don’t have to read off of the actual presentation.”

“Good. You’re dismissed,” he murmurs flippantly, waving a hand.

Just as he heads out the door, Jordan speaks up again and any hope Magnus had for a break is flushed down the drain. “Magnus.” He turns around once more, praying that the smile--or whatever it could be considered.

“Yes, Mr. Kyle?” Magnus asks, his voice strained.

“Make sure you color code it next time and fill out this folder as well.”

Magnus stalks a few feet forward, taking the vomit green folder from Jordan just prior to walking out the door. Once he’s reached his desk he mutters obscenities at himself, and wonders faintly how exactly he got stuck here.

***

_I want to diieeeeeeee_ , Magnus thinks, chin settled on his palm as he fills out the paperwork in royal blue ink, _deathly loss this can’t be real, I cannot stand the way I feel; emptiness is filling me to the point of agony._

“ _Bane_!” Magnus sighs, signing one final order followed by his shuffling of the mass amounts of papers into the horrendous folder.

“Yes, Mr. Kyle?”

“You’re taking _ages_ to fill out that paperwork!” he grumbles, but Magnus hands him the food that he ordered for his no doubt, hangry boss.

“You need to sign here, here, there, here, here, there, and there,” Magnus mumbles. “I don’t have the authorization.”

“You should’ve returned this earlier.”

“With all due respect, sir, it’s Valentine’s and his son’s Record Label. They always hide things in the fine print,” Magnus sighs, sealing the folder before setting in on the top tray of Jordan’s files.

“Very well,” Jordan says, stuffing his face with the sandwich, “you can leave early today.”

“Thank you, sir,” Magnus bites back a comment about how he’s already an  _hour_ overtime. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jordan hums an incoherent response and Magnus ducks out of the office.

***

After fifteen minutes of standing at the terminal, Magnus is desperate to get his hands on a bottle of vodka, no matter how watered down and cheap it may be.

He boards the subway, settling down on a seat with a huff. He must’ve missed the midday rush because there are far fewer people than usual. There’s a lady with a small rat-dog on her lap, dressed in a feather boa—the lady, _not_ the dog; a woman reading a book that looks to be about the Armenian Genocide; and a rather young father, bouncing a baby up and down on his knee with tattoos running up his arms.

Finally, his eyes fall on—Tall, Dark, and Douchey? _No_ , his mind corrects, _Alec_. He’s leaning back in his seat, long legs spread out and arms crossed over his chest. A backpack rests between his feet and his eyes are closed. His hair curls at the ends, damp like he’s been in the rain without an umbrella.

If Magnus didn’t know any better, he’d say that Alec was asleep—but he _does_ know better. As the subway bumps around, the young man’s shoulders and head hardly lull with movement. His lips are still tipped downwards into the scowl that makes Magnus want to scream.  

Slowly, the subway skids to a halt, knocking Magnus’s train of thought directly from his head. He glances out the window, seeing that they’ve stopped at his station as verified by the spray painted dick against the white and turquoise backsplash.

He stands, sending a final glance to Tall, Dark, and Douchey-- _no, Alec_ \--only to find that his cerulean eyes are now burning a hole through Magnus.

For the first time in a long, long time, Magnus feels bashful heat rise to his cheeks at the attention. There’s something about the look of faint recognition on Alec’s face, however, that stirs to life an ugly unsettling feeling in Magnus’s hollow stomach.

The most peculiar of it all is the way Alec’s head cocks to the side and his blue eyes squint in diluted confusion before returning to the wall in front of him, taking his lip between his teeth.

And now, the unsettling feeling is followed by one that bears a resemblance to utter fear.

***

Magnus is drunk, and if he were less of a man, he would still admit that he was drunk. Has he mentioned that he is _drunk_? But that, however, does not stop him from pulling his hammered ass together for long enough to get past the bouncer at the front doors of the new bar near NYU’s campus. Is it a gay bar? _Regretfully_ _not._  

After taking a few off-kilter steps, he flops down beside a deliciously tall head of raven hair.

Green eyes first fall on a glass of virgin Shirley temple resting by a stack of books--scratch that-- one book that reads _The Compliant Words of Shakey Pear_ . No. _The Compelling World’s of Shooks Post._ Doubtful. _The Completed Works of Shakespeare._ Ah, that _must_ be it.

_Hey_ , _I’m gonna be in that play!_ Magnus thinks sluggishly. 

Emerald eyes trail up to a face that is becoming more and more familiar each passing day. Alec hasn’t noticed Magnus yet, eyes fixed on the doodles he’s drawing in the corner of the page of paper—the rest of which is filled with damn near perfect calligraphy.

“Alec?” But Alec doesn’t look at Magnus—which hardly makes any sense considering it’s a Tuesday night and there’s a total of five other people in the bar.

He tries again, louder this time, “Alec? Alec Lightwood.”

Magnus can’t help but roll his eyes—of _course,_ he was right about Tall, Dark, and Douchey; he’s the second best judge of character, right behind Chairman Meow.

The bartender comes up and it’s the shadow of him that makes Alec look up. Slowly, sky blue eyes follow the bartender's line of sight in preparatory to landing on Magnus as he orders a mojito.

“Oh, sure, _now_ you look?” Magnus sasses.

What happens next makes Magnus’s heart plummet right from his chest through his stomach and _fall out his ass_.

Alec, with brows furrowed, points to himself then to his ear. Magnus blinks dumbly, and Alec repeats the motions, this time shaking his head between pointing to himself and then his ear.

_I...ear…._

_I… no… hear_

_I… can’t … hear_

_He’s_ deaf _._

Magnus coughs on his whiskey sour before return his eyes to Alec, who looks at him with concern. He quickly flips to a new page in his notebook, soon after he begins scrawling something with his pen. Alec turns the book towards Magnus.

**Are you alright?**

Magnus nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He quickly realizes his mistake and stumbles his hand around the counter for a pen. But Alec has already written a new line of text.

**I can’t read your lips. There isn’t enough light. Nods work though.**

Magnus watches as his hand begins moving again, scrawling out: **I saw you on the subway--sorry for staring. You just looked really familiar.**

Magnus grasps the pen, sloppily writing: _met you at Ragnor’s. when you came for your sister... actually, i just saw you. i guess you saw me too. Been calling you tall dark and douchey in my head since._

Confusion flashes through his eyes. **... Tall, Dark, and Douchey?**

Magnus has to fight the embarrassment that threatens to swallow him whole. _yeah, i didn’t know you couldn’t hear me. i tried to talk to you._

Alec’s mouth makes an ‘oh’ shape, and then he nods, flipping to the next page. **I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize between Izzy—**

Magnus seizes the pen before the boy can cause himself more pain over things he obviously can’t change. Magnus stops Alec’s hand in place, shaking his head as if to say he understands completely. He then realizes he’s not moving his head the right direction to signify this and he very quickly adjusts.

A smirk quirks up the corner of the gentleman’s mouth. **You’re drunk, aren’t you?**

Magnus takes the pen, twirling it--or desperately trying to. _no, xander, i’m absolutely hammered._

Alec goes stiff besides Magnus and for a moment he’s worried he’s destroyed their relationship before they’ve even started. Alec takes the pen, hesitating for a moment. **Alec. Only Alec. Please.**

Alec twirls the pen skillfully, skipping a line in the paper. **What’s your name?**

Magnus grins. _Magnus Bane._

**Oh! You brought Izzy her shoes back!**

_yes, darling. and when i got there you were snoring quite adorably on a kiddie mattress._

Magnus takes great pleasure in the adorable flush that coats Alec’s cheeks, neck, and the tips of his ears. He rolls his eyes, retrieving the pen back from Magnus, soon pressing it against the notepad once more. **I don’t snore—** Magnus reaches for the pen but Alec pulls it from his reach— **anyways, what do you do?**

Magnus takes the pen, jotting down the answer. _i work for Fresh Surf Records. i’m a personal assistant for the CEO, Jordan Kyle. what about you?_

Alec takes the notebook. **I’m a student at NYU. Majoring in Corporate Law and English. Senior.**

_A sexy Atticus Finch_ , Magnus thinks to himself, _that’s something I could get behind._

He sends Alec a smile, which is immediately returned before the questions really begin. They remain in the bar for hours until the bartender gives the last call. As Magnus falls into bed that night, his last thought is of the notebook on his nightstand and the secrets the owner hides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to leave feedback in kudos and comments it is very appreciated <3 we love you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> We're sorry :))))
> 
> Let us know what you think. Comment!! Kudos!!


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